Coronation
by corsairr
Summary: At Hawke's coronation for becoming the Champion of Kirkwall, Fenris makes an appearance after insisting he wouldn't.


Phoebe wasn't one for fancy celebrations with pompous nobles bouncing about, bragging about how much their attire cost. If it was left to her, she wouldn't have came at all, despite this gathering celebrating their new Champion of Kirkwall, who was inconsequentially her. But courtesy of a certain Dalish elf, she was dragged here against her will.

That wasn't even the worst part. Merrill had insisted on Phoebe wearing an elegant ballgown, which started out conservatory and showed not the least of cleavage. And then Isabela had put her part in, and next thing Phoebe knew, almost her entire chest was on display. The dress was nothing short of elaborate, fitted into a victorian style, black being the dominant color and navy blue and gold accents on the corset.

She sighed. It was going to be a long day. Varric had insisted she at least smile at the nobles, but she hardly even looked at them. She was sitting at a lone table next to Sebastian, who was chattering away with one of his Chantry sisters. Phoebe scanned her eyes across the room in search of her companions.

Varric had a small crowd around him, telling vibrant stories about Phoebe's adventures and admittedly exaggerating them until they were no where near accurate. Nonetheless, the nobles were consumed with the story and looked like they actually believed Hawke ripped the horns off of an ogre and then framed them.

Isabela was dancing with two men, one on each side. She had worn a revealing gold and red bodycon dress and for once abandoned her bandanna, her hair down and messy from all the energy-consuming dancing she was doing. Phoebe scoffed. How expected. She was still furious with Isabela for the war the pirate had started.

Meanwhile, Merrill was chatting up a storm with a clearly bored but polite noble about how she'd sewn the pink tulips onto her dress. The noble was merely smiling and nodding through a clenched jaw, and Merrill was none the wiser. Her cheeks were tinged with a flattering pink- not make up, but an actual blush. Phoebe thought it was almost cute.

Aveline was slow dancing with Donnic, even though the music that was currently playing was a rather upbeat tune. She had blatantly refused to wear a ball gown, no matter how much Isabela and Merrill tried to pressure her into it. Instead, she wore an off-the-shoulder red tunic and a tight-fitting bodycon skirt that reached her knees. Her hair was missing its usual headband, and was resting carelessly on her shoulders. It was a flattering look for the captain, especially the smile she wore on her lips. Donnic was quite a lucky man.

Anders was skulking in the corner, doing his best to stay out of the spotlight. He really knew how to clean himself up, Phoebe thought. Instead of the ragged robes he usually wore, he was fitted into a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the bottom of it tucked into a pair of black trousers. He was even wearing a gold earring in his right ear, which Urthemiel had only seen once before on the mage. That was years ago, however. Anders' hair was pulling back into a neat ponytail- all of it, not just half. A few rebellious strands of his bangs still lingered on his forehead, but Phoebe deemed it flattering. Classy didn't suit Anders.

Phoebe sighed. There was only one person missing from the celebration, and she didn't want to even think about him. She was willing to bet that if they hadn't spent that night together, he would have been here, but alas, what was done was done. She imagined he was busy brooding at his mansion, throwing wine bottles at the portrait of Danarius hanging above the hearth.

"Hawke?"

"Hmm?" Phoebe said, her tone bored out of her mind. She didn't even realize it was Sebastian addressing her until she turned her head to look at him.

He cleared his throat nervously, his cheeks flushed as he stood up and circled around the table until he was standing directly in front of her. He held his hand out curtly, a bashful smile on his lips. "May I have this dance?"

Phoebe gaped at him. He had to be joking.

Sebastian leaned in and whispered, "Come on. The crowd will love it, and you won't be making any headlines if you're attending your own coronation without a date."

She chuckled dryly. "Courtesy of a certain broody elf." She and Sebastian had no romantic history, nor did either of them ever dream of such. They were close enemies, more like. Whenever it came to him skulking around a Chantry uselessly as opposed to trying to retake his kingdom, they always got into very heated arguments that always ended up with one or the other storming out with a string of curses.

But at times like this, the down time, they were perfectly civilized and got along quite well. Phoebe might have even gone so far as to say Sebastian was her closest friend out of all her companions, apart from Aveline. But romantically involved? Not a chance.

So why he was practically asking her to be his date, she had no clue. Pity, maybe? That would never settle correctly with her.

He smiled sadly. "I'm sure he'll come around, Hawke."

"Don't count on it," she replied casually, her expression unreadable. "I don't care, anyway. He can squat up in that mansion and rot. I'll be sure to salt his corpse for the rats."

"You don't mean that." Sebastian's expression was soft.

She stared at him, her jaw firmly clenched and her expression serious.

"Alright, maybe you do mean that." he said after a pause. "But seriously, come on. Just two friends, one dance, and forgetting that we hate each other for a while." He winked, grinning toothily.

"You're sure this doesn't go against your vows?" Phoebe replied mockingly.

He rolled his eyes. "Its just a dance."

"Fine." She stood with an exasperated sigh, taking his outstretched hand at last.

As if on cue, the upbeat music switched to a drearily slow song, almost like a sad lullaby. Sebastian led Phoebe to the center of the dance floor, and once they were in the middle of the spotlight, he placed his hands gently on her sides, not quite her waist. Prude, she thought with a sly chuckle. She rested her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to take the lead, swaying back and forth slowly.

She was bored again within the next minute. It would have been funner watching Fenris trip over his own feet as he attempted to lead a dance. Warriors were like that, always tripping over their feet and not having an ounce of gracefulness. Not only that, but she knew by default that the elf had not an inkling of how to dance.

She'd told herself over and over again that she hated him. That their night together was no more than a casual liaison, performed for the sole purpose of easing tension, no feelings attached. And it had started out that way. But Maker, the way he touched her was a technique only someone overwhelmed with compassion could do.

And perhaps the feelings were reciprocated, despite Phoebe forcing herself to believe it was not so. Her mother had passed away shortly after Fenris had left her, killed by a blood mage of all things. What made it worse was the fact that Phoebe was a blood mage herself. But her reasons were her own, and she knew she was not one of the same with the blood mage who killed her mother.

That had added on to the grief wracking her heart because of Fenris. Oddly enough, he had showed up at the estate to comfort her, even though they hadn't spoken since that fateful night. She had pushed him away, naturally, told him that she didn't need him. That was untrue. And she was only just realizing it as she swayed to the slow rhythmic tune with Sebastian.

There was a healthy distance between the two, neither bodies touching. But Phoebe tested the waters and inched forward. When Sebastian didn't recoil, she laid her head on his shoulder, heartbroken. Not even she could deny how much she loved the elf or how much she missed her mother. Sebastian held her close as if sensing her need for comfort. Perhaps the Brother wasn't so bad after all. Misled, maybe, but not so bad.

Even with the loud music, the shuffling of rococo dresses, and the quiet murmur of the chattering nobles, Phoebe heard the grandiose doors open. She peered up from Sebastian's shoulder, perplexed at why someone was arriving an hour late to the party. Probably a noble trying to be fashionably late, she assumed. A poor attempt, considering there was only an hour left of the coronation.

But the person who strode in was the one person she least expected to see here: Fenris.

Not only that, but he had abandoned his spiky armor and replaced it with an untucked white button-up, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows just as Anders' were. The first three buttons were undone, exposing an attractive amount of his chest. He wore simple black trousers and, most shocking of all, shoes.

His hair had grown past his shoulders in the past few months, since Phoebe had been the one giving him haircuts, and since they were on a no-talking basis, his hair had been allowed to grow as it willed. But he had pulled it back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, his pristine white bangs still hanging over his forehead.

Damn him, Phoebe thought reproachfully. How dare he show up looking so... She couldn't find a word to match. Handsome was too formal, sexy too informal. Attractive.

Sebastian noticed her sudden distance and peered down at her, a curious expression on his face. He followed her line of sight until his eyes landed on Fenris, then he took on a look that was almost as shocked as Phoebe. The elf stood as a pariah among the nobles, even though he'd arrived late.

Phoebe bet the nobles thought his markings were simply painted on to compliment his rebel look. She laughed dryly. How little they knew about Phoebe and her companions, yet how much they thought they knew about Phoebe and her companions.

She remained where she was, not daring to go and speak to him. She didn't even know why he was here. Likely to tease her, she thought. Or maybe he had come for Isabela. She recalled Isabela flirting openly with him on multiple occasions, much to Phoebe's well placed disdain. Regardless, she didn't move; she simply watched.

Fenris halted and scanned his calculating green eyes across the room, his expression unreadable. They kept roaming until they finally landed on Sebastian and Phoebe, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of loathing cross his expression, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. He started striding towards them, and Phoebe's heart quickened and thudded against her chest. She thought for certain it was going to burst through.

But Fenris just kept on walking. She knitted her eyebrows together, confused, and looked over her shoulder to see what he was doing. He had approached Varric, his signature scowl broodier than ever on his face. He seemed to be shouting at the dwarf, but the words could not be made out over the loud music and deafening crowd.

"You should go break that up. Varric looks like he needs a change of smallclothes." Sebastian said quietly into Phoebe's ear. His breath felt cold upon her neck.

She nodded curtly at him. "Thanks for the dance." Before he could respond, she had hitched her dress up to allow her to jog to Fenris and Varric.

Fenris stopped mid-yell and slowly turned his hand to glare at her, his eyes full of hatred. If she had a sovereign for how many times he gave her that look, she'd have exactly one sovereign. Sure, he'd given her many scowls and many glares, but nothing like this.

"Uh oh." said Varric in an aside.

Both the human and the elf had a stare down, challenging one another to make the first move. Phoebe held her ground stubbornly, returning the look she had given him filled with almost as much hatred as he had in his. She was never one to submit to anyone, even if she was in the wrong. In this case, she wasn't- not that she knew of, anyway. She still didn't know why Fenris was so angry.

And she wouldn't be finding out until he backed down. Slowly, he retreated, and his expression softened, however mildly. "What was that?" he demanded coldly, an edge to his voice as sharp as the dagger equipped to his belt. He never went anywhere without it.

"What was what?" Phoebe inquired, her voice equally as cold.

"I was under the impression you hated the Brother." he replied.

She saw out of the corner of her eye Varric hurriedly stand up and start to walk away, but she grabbed the collar of his coat and forced him to sit back down, not taking her eyes off of Fenris. She needed to have the dwarf handy in case things got bloody, which wasn't so unlikely with these two.

"I was under the impression that wasn't any of your business." she spat.

Fenris stared at her, his expression unchanging for the longest moment. It was one of the most intense yet awkward moments Phoebe had ever had to endure, and she had frequently had violent face-offs with all types of infiltrators, blood mages, and even templars. Finally, the elf backed down and took a step away from her.

"Fine." he said through gritted teeth. "But I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

"And what's that?"

His expression softened even more, and hesitantly, he held out his hand to her. She stared down at it in both disbelief and bewilderment. "Dance with me." he ordered darkly.

Phoebe could hear a sly snicker and the sound of a quill scratching against parchment from her side. She narrowed her eyes and turned her head towards Varric, then smacked him upside the head when she saw he was writing all of this down. She then cleared her throat awkwardly and reluctantly took Fenris's hand. She had nothing to lose, anyway.

Begrudgingly so, the elf led her to the center of the dance floor. The stares of disdain and contempt they received from the nobles were truly ones to behold. Phoebe could practically read their minds. What is the Champion of Kirkwall doing holding the hand of a servant?

She ignored them, and she noticed Fenris was doing his best to do the same. He chose a place off to the side rather than directly in the middle as Sebastian had chosen, and the slow music continued. He released her hand and put his calloused hands on her waist, a little lower than what was considered appropriate to the Chantry.

She sighed irritably and put her hands on his shoulders, the same as she did with Sebastian. "Who talked you into this?" she asked after a moment's silence of swaying.

"Varric." Fenris replied blankly.

"Figures." Phoebe muttered.

They were quiet for the next few moments, simply focusing on swaying back and forth to the music. Phoebe had been almost certain she and Fenris would never walk down the romantic path again, yet here they were, slow dancing at her coronation. How ironic. The elf wasn't as bad of a dancer as she predicted, either. He only accidentally stepped on her feet twice.

The dance was still relatively young, though. Finally, he severed the silence. "I'm sorry."

A crease formed between her brows as she turned her gaze towards him instead of Merrill trying to scrub the spilled punch off of her dress. She looked at him with the question already written on her face.

"For leaving you." he said, his voice holding genuine sorrow. "I understand you were looking for nothing but something casual, but..." he trailed off and averted his gaze.

"Continue." Phoebe urged quietly, her interest piqued. She never cared much for what other people had to say, but Fenris was an exception in almost everything she did.

He heaved a sigh, his eyes darting back to meet hers. "But that night meant everything to me. I... I don't know how to say this, Hawke." His manner suddenly changed to impatience. "Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Letting you leave was the hardest thing I've ever done." Phoebe replied solemnly. Along with actually listening to what the elf had to say, he was also the exception to her letting her guard down. She felt she could be vulnerable around him, and he wouldn't care, because he could be vulnerable around her as well.

Fenris looked at her with a new look. Never had he looked so... enlightened. It was as if he'd been shrouded in doubt for a millennium, and now he'd finally gotten his answer: Hawke did care.

He was never a man of words when it came to expressing his feelings. He brought his lips down to hers, locking them together in a gentle kiss. It was unlike the desperately heated kisses they'd shared on that night, and it seemed they were both so tired of running from their feelings.

"You're kidding." Isabela said in disbelief, her words mildly slurred from how much alcohol she had consumed.

"I kid you not, Rivaini," Varric countered, leaning back in his chair and bringing his fingertips together with a platonic smirk. "I watched it all go down."

"Everyone knows you're the biggest bullshitter ever, Varric," Isabela argued. "Okay, so they might have danced together, but there's no way Fenris would actually get all emotional. Its Fenris. Come on, Varric, I thought you were better at staying in character than that."

"If he didn't, then why did he and Hawke leave the coronation a half hour early, both of their faces bright red?" he protested defensibly.

The raider paused and tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, watching the dwarf across from her inquisitively. "Oh!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers as she apparently thought of something. "They were going to duel."

"Sure, but I don't think its the kind of hack-and-slash duel you're thinking of." he replied, chuckling wryly. "Look, Rivaini, you certainly don't have to believe me. But the next time you try to guess Broody's underwear color around Hawke, you'd do well to have your hand on the hilt of your blade."

Isabela scowled at him and downed another drink.


End file.
